


Important

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Commitment, Declarations Of Love, Devotion, Established Relationship, Injury Recovery, Inline with canon, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After Laxus’s impetuous hug Freed slipped out of the room in Evergreen’s wake, mumbling incoherently about giving Laxus ‘time to recover,’ and it took the blond some time before he successfully mustered the energy to get to his feet and start his search." Once Laxus is back on his feet after the Tartarus attack, he has something important to clarify.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Important

For once, Laxus has to go looking for Freed.

It’s a rare occurrence. Usually the other is perpetually hovering just within reach, or at least within earshot, and that’s only become more true since he’s started spending more nights with Laxus than without him. But after Laxus’s impetuous hug Freed slipped out of the room in Evergreen’s wake, mumbling incoherently about giving Laxus ‘time to recover,’ and it took the blond some time before he successfully mustered the energy to get to his feet and start his search.

He’s ready to look as long as he needs to, even if movement leaves him breathless and oddly shaky from the exertion. But he’s barely stepped into the main guild hall when Bixlow’s voice comes from a bench alongside the door, clear and carrying so Laxus can’t miss it.

“He’s not here.” Bixlow is leaning back against the wall, one leg thrown out sideways to take up most of the bench. “Haven’t seen him since he left your room.”

“Huh?” Laxus asks, not because the information is irrelevant but because he’s having trouble following how Bixlow knows who he’s looking for without being told.

“ _Freed’s_  not here,” Evergreen offers from across the room. The conversation is loud enough that they’re starting to gain glances from the few other inhabitants of the room, Elfman turning to blink at Evergreen next to him and Levy looking up from the book she’s reading at the other end of the hall. “We tried to tell him you’d come looking for him but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Probably for the best you go somewhere a little more private anyway, yeah?” Bixlow laughs.

Laxus doesn’t even attempt to form a futile denial. He’s already made up his mind on that point, after all. “Thanks.” He leaves the guild hall again, cuts diagonally across the path and out onto the main road, because if Freed’s not at Laxus’s place and he’s not with the other two there’s really only one place left to look.

Freed must be waiting for him to show up, with how quickly he pulls his door open when Laxus knocks. Laxus almost never comes here -- his room is closer, and he likes the way Freed fits into the space of it like a bright lost bird -- but it’s worth it, if only to see the soft of lingering emotion at the corner of the other’s eyes.

“Laxus,” he says, and Laxus reaches out instead of speaking, fits his fingers in against Freed’s cheek so he can skim his thumb against the shadowed exhaustion collecting under the other’s eye. He is careful with the contact, deliberately gentle in consideration of the odd fragility Freed exudes, but the other still sucks in a sharp startled breath and goes as still as if this is the first time they’ve touched instead of the hundredth.

“You didn’t sleep much,” Laxus says, observation rather than critique, and Freed blinks at him and swallows hard.

“I was worried,” he says, honesty on his lips instead of the generic ‘we’ he had offered upon Laxus waking, and the blond takes a breath and lets his hand drop to rest at Freed’s shoulder instead.

“Can I come in?” It’s weird to ask for permission, weird to be careful with the possibility of boundaries when Laxus is used to assuming there are none, but everything about today is weird and it seems like the right thing to ask, somehow. It doesn’t make much of a difference, anyway; Freed steps aside immediately, ducking out of the way of the door, and Laxus steps through the entrance and into the space for the first time.

It’s not really that different than any other room, once he blinks and looks around. Freed is shutting the door behind him, fiddling with the lock like he can’t decide whether to turn it or not, and Laxus has a moment to consider the layout, the furniture pushed up against the walls and the bookshelves packed full. There’s a lower shelf along the wall, just under the window, with a few framed pictures and a lightning bolt statue set across the top. Laxus recognizes the faces in the frames, would step in to look at them more closely, but he’s caught instead by the poster pinned over the desk itself and its far more familiar features.

“Freed,” he says, and Freed turns around from the door to see where he’s looking. The sound he makes is desperate, a strangled wail of protest, and he starts to move before his motions stall as he realizes that standing in front of the poster isn’t going to remove the other’s awareness of its presence.

Laxus can’t help grinning. It’s not that Freed having a poster of him is really that big of a surprise, after all, wouldn’t have been even before the first time Freed kissed him; his devotion has been perfectly clear long enough that Laxus barely thinks about it anymore. It  _is_  a surprise to find that it has persisted through the ample evidence that Laxus is after all just another person, and Laxus can feel amusement collecting warm in his throat even before he looks over to see Freed going absolutely scarlet by the door.  
“We should go into the other room,” Freed manages, and Laxus huffs a laugh as the other reaches out to grab at his wrist and urge him away from the wall. He’s not pulling with any strength at all, or at least not so that Laxus notices, but the blond still takes pity on him and lets himself be led away from the main room and around the corner.

The bedroom is less telltale than the main room; there’s just a bed pushed in against the corner, narrower than Laxus’s own and barely fitting between the wall and yet another bookcase, this one lower so it doubles as a nightstand. Freed stops dead in the doorway, as if he’s only just realized that he’s pulling Laxus into his bedroom, and Laxus pulls his hand free so he can reach out for Freed’s hip instead.

“Keep going,” he says, ducking his head so he can breathe in against the top of Freed’s hair. Freed takes a sharp breath, steps forward into the room, and when Laxus pushes at him he doesn’t stop, keeps going until they’re both alongside the neatly made bed.

“Sit,” Laxus orders, and Freed does, turns and sits so when he looks up Laxus is looming over him with even more than his usual advantage of height. His cheeks are still flushed pink, his lips trembling like he’s afraid of a reprimand, and it takes a deliberate exertion of will for Laxus to keep from pushing him back to the bed and working him into a better reason for that flush.

It’s that effort as much as self-consciousness that makes Laxus’s voice rough when he speaks instead of touching. “Look. Freed.”

Freed’s forehead creases with stress, or concern, or just held-back emotion; he’s such an open book it’s hard to read him for the range of reactions that flash across his face in response to anything Laxus says. It’s easier to just speak over his reaction, to get the words out and work through Freed’s response later, once Laxus is sure he has managed to actually say what needs saying.

“You’re important to me,” he gets out, the words dragging in his throat so it takes effort to push them out over his tongue. “The important things I want to protect include you.”

It feels awkward in his mouth, strangely phrased and sticky on his tongue. But Freed’s expression goes blank-canvas empty for a minute, stunningly exposed as he visibly works through the words in his head, and Laxus can see right when the understanding hits him. It flickers bright into his eyes and soft at his mouth, and for a minute Laxus thinks Freed’s going to duck his head to hide the shock all across his features.

He doesn’t. Laxus probably should have guessed that much, that Freed wouldn’t look at anything else but him if he is given the chance. “W-what?”

Laxus grimaces at the prospect of repeating himself, reaches out to touch at the fall of hair half-covering Freed’s face. “Move back.” Freed does, immediately, slides all the way back across the bed until his shoulders hit the wall. Laxus pauses to toe his boots off before he leans forward, reaches out to brace himself at Freed’s shoulder while he drops a knee to the soft of the bed, and when he comes in closer Freed turns up to follow his motion like a flower following the sun.

“I want to tell everyone,” he says, and Freed takes a breath so sharp it sounds like a sob. He smells faintly spicy, the scent clinging to his hair so when Laxus presses his nose to the strands and breathes in he can’t smell anything else for a moment. “Ever and Bixlow should know about us.”

There’s a careful inhale, the sound of Freed bracing himself for something, and then fingers brush against the bottom of Laxus’s shirt, curl into a tentative hold against the fabric. “They.” Freed’s voice cracks, he takes another breath as Laxus sighs into his hair and traces his fingers down against the inside edge of the other’s jacket. “I think they already know.” Laxus’s fingers run up against a button; he twists it free, loosens the taut line of the fabric as Freed keeps talking. “Uh. Unofficially, at least.”

“Let’s tell them officially,” Laxus says, and the words aren’t strained anymore, they’re purring easy and delighted in his throat now. “I want everyone to know.” He shifts back, pulls away for a moment so he can wrap his fingers around Freed’s hip and drag him in closer. Freed comes with absolute compliance, wraps his arms around Laxus’s neck and his leg around Laxus’s hip, and when the blond tips him back he lets himself be laid out flat over the mattress. His hair pools under him, tangling around his shoulders as it starts to slide free of its tie, and Laxus hesitates as he starts to move away, leans back in so he can kiss the corner of Freed’s lips. It’s quick, pressure and a hint of friction, and he’s pulling back as soon as Freed starts to take a shocked breath of response, but it keeps his mouth tingling with warmth as he rocks back to work the rest of the other’s buttons open. The jacket slides away from the crisp white of Freed’s shirt, the fabric draping so closely against the other’s body Laxus feels like he can all but see through it even before he reaches up to loosen the twist of white wrapped against Freed’s throat so he can start on the shirt buttons as well as the jacket.

“I didn’t--” Freed starts, his tone faintly awed and mostly shocked, and Laxus doesn’t look up from what he’s doing as he unwraps inches of pale skin under the movement of his fingers. “I didn’t know we  _were_  official.”

Laxus doesn’t look up at that, either. It’s not really much of a surprise to hear, though he didn’t know that particular piece of information before hearing it; it’s more like an obvious truth he can only really notice when his attention is drawn to it. “Yeah,” he says, and the shirt falls open. He reaches up to push it off Freed’s shoulder, moving slowly so he can trace his thumb across the dip of the other’s collarbone. “We’re definitely officially…” He stalls out there, not sure what words best suit the situation. All the options are too childish or too sensual, nothing quite right to encompass the constant comforting presence that Freed is in his life, the bright spark of light that he doesn’t want to be without now that he has learned to see it.

“You’re mine,” he finally says, and that seems to be the right thing to say because Freed takes a sharp shuddering breath under his touch and whimpers on his exhale. Laxus glances at him then, risking a glance at his eyes; it’s worth it, for the expression on his face, the shocked heat in his eyes and the part of his lips. “If you want to be,” Laxus adds, not really because there’s any doubt in his mind but because he’s pretty sure he should at least sketch out the shape of asking, at some point.

“I,” Freed starts, and then he blinks and is twisting his head away, lifting a hand to drape his fingers over his face as makeshift disguise, and Laxus turns his head back down to kiss against the sharp inhale of almost-a-sob in Freed’s chest. He’s trembling, still, shaking under the contact like he can’t steady himself, and when the shivering doesn’t ease Laxus hesitates, rocks back over his heels so he can brace Freed’s hip against the bed and watch the shift of the other’s pale skin.

“Is this okay?” he thinks to ask. He hasn’t seen Freed like this since their first time, when his coherency disintegrated almost completely and left him entirely to Laxus’s care, but it’s been months since Laxus has seen him this undone so soon.

Freed takes a breath, deep and shaky, and nods quickly before he drags his hand across his face and looks back up at the blond. His eyes are red with the suggestion of tears, or at least enough emotion to replace them, but before Laxus can compose himself into worry he smiles, the expression lighting up his face and shining in his eyes, and any concern the blond might have had evaporates under the force of appreciation.

“This is perfect,” Freed manages, and then he sits up, reaches out for Laxus’s shirt with unprecedented initiative. Laxus lets his own hands stay where they are, balanced at the other’s hips as Freed leans in closer to him. Freed makes quick work of his buttons in spite of the visible trembling of his fingers, slides the fabric free as fast as Laxus did for him, and when he pushes over the blond’s shoulders Laxus lets his hands go so the other can slide his clothes off his skin. Freed’s hands are trembling, just barely, fluttering like wings at Laxus’s shoulders, but Laxus’s are steady when he closes them at Freed’s hips to hold him to the bed. Freed is smiling, shy and irresistible, the soft of his mouth sweet when Laxus leans in to kiss him again, his touch steadying enough that Laxus can take his weight, can lift him off the bed as he turns them over to drop Freed against the neat line of the sheets as the other lets his hold slip loose. Laxus’s body is aching, the pounding heart of excess exertion catching him up now that he’s where he wants to be, but Freed is staring up at him with his eyes wide and worshipful and his mouth still forming the shape of that smile. Laxus doesn’t lean down to kiss the taste off his lips, this time; there’s no rush, after all, no need to hurry this. So he stays back on his heels, slides his hands in off Freed’s hips to brush against the front of his pants instead. For once Freed doesn’t arch up off the bed, doesn’t tremble like he’s forgotten how to breathe; he sighs instead, relief and tentative relaxation turning him into something elegant across the bed, as comfortable in his skin as he looks in combat. Laxus doesn’t look away as he slides the fastenings of Freed’s pants loose, lets his gaze trail hot across the other’s shoulders and over the delicate curve of his waist as he pulls the fabric down off Freed’s skin. The movement is easy, unhurried and steady as he goes, and even spilling illumination across Freed’s body doesn’t send Laxus’s blood into an overdrive of impatience. Maybe it’s the words still in his mind, the declaration of commitment carrying more weight with it than Laxus expected, or maybe it’s the heavy pull of injury lingering in his body, that keeps him appreciative instead of desperate; either way, he’s seeing what he hasn’t paused to properly notice before. His memories are formed of unconnected pieces, the feel of an ankle under his fingers or the sharp curve of a shoulder, tangled strands of pale hair and adrenaline shaking through delicate fingers, but it’s different to see it all at once, to pause at the foot of the bed to look up at all of Freed at same moment. The separate pieces of beauty slide into alignment with each other, form a single perfect whole, and for a moment Laxus doesn’t move, doesn’t speak and just looks, gazing before he reaches for the words he wants.

Freed reacts first, starting to sit up on the bed so he can hunch his shoulders in in a futile effort to half-cover himself. His hair swings forward over his shoulder, the trailing ends catching and falling like water over his hands, and Laxus is watching that when Freed says, “Laxus?” with some of his familiar nervousness back under the sound of his voice.

“Yeah,” and Laxus is moving, sliding back off the bed so he can get to his feet. “Gimme a minute.” He looks down so he can work his own jeans open, pushes them down off his hips with less care than he took with Freed’s clothes, but it hardly matters. It’s enough that he’s even taking the time to strip his clothes off when he doesn’t usually think of it until later, when Freed is already quaking and breathless under him and it’s enough to just get the zipper open and the fabric pushed out of the way. It’s different, even before he comes back down to kneel on the bed, different to be this close, to have the accidental brush of Freed’s skin directly on his without the barrier of denim holding them apart. Laxus doesn’t hold himself up over the other like he usually does; he’s sliding down instead, getting as close as he can to the heat of Freed’s skin, appreciating the radiance directly against his body as he shifts in nearer to push Freed back over the bed. Freed is staring at him, his usual half-frightened expression melted over into disbelieving warmth instead, and Laxus has to pause to kiss him, has to touch his tongue against the part of Freed’s lips before he pulls back to stare at the shadows of heat in the other’s eyes.

“You have lube, right?” he asks, certain of the answer but still amused by the way Freed blinks himself into coherency, flushes hot all over his face before he can clear his throat and gesture vaguely at the stand beside the table. He doesn’t move himself, at least not before Laxus is reaching out to push at the objects across the stand to find the bottle tucked away in the back where it’s not immediately visible. Freed is watching him when he looks back at the other’s face, his eyes wide behind the tangle of his hair. Laxus stares at the dark of his lashes, the elegant line of his cheekbones, as he opens the bottle and efficiently slicks his fingers with the liquid.

“This is okay, right?” he asks again as he leaves the bottle against the bed, slides down the sheets to lean over Freed’s legs instead of his hips. Without the usual rush of impatience in his blood it’s easier to fit their legs together, simple coordination for Laxus to shift his knees in while Freed spreads his wider to make space. It’s odd to feel like he’s part of Freed’s studied elegance, to fall into sync with the grace of the other’s motions; it makes Laxus smile without thinking, his mouth catching into unconscious pleasure as he reaches out for the heat coming off Freed’s skin. Freed shivers at his touch, like he always does, trembling himself deeper into relaxation over the sheets. When Laxus looks up at his face Freed is staring at him, his eyes wide and his fingers caught against his mouth as if to hold back words or a moan or a whimper. Laxus lets his eyes linger, watches the motion of Freed’s eyelashes, and when he pushes slick fingers against the other Freed’s hand does nothing at all to muffle the breathless groan that spills from his throat as his eyes shut, his back arching involuntary against the friction of Laxus’s touch.

Freed is hot to the touch, his body flushing warmer against Laxus’s fingers and stretching against the blond’s thrusting touch, and Laxus isn’t in a hurry for the first time he can remember, isn’t rushing towards the conclusion of this moment. He’s just watching, staring at the shadows of Freed’s eyelashes and listening to the half-caught whimpers in the other’s throat as he lets his hand fall into a rhythm, stroking thrusts to press a little deeper each time as Freed’s body opens to him. When Laxus draws his hand back to fit a third finger into the other, Freed jerks against the bed, his cock twitching hot against his stomach as his hand falls free of his lips. Laxus can see the open-mouthed gasp in his throat, now, the fall of his lips like he can’t remember how to close his mouth. He looks like he’s falling to pieces, all his strings cut to leave him trembling boneless against the bed, and for a brief moment Laxus considers, for the first time, not going any farther than this, just stretching Freed open against his touch and watching the other collapse into pleasure without the distraction of heat in Laxus’s own blood to pull the blond’s attention away.

Then Freed takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and tips his head to look at Laxus. His mouth is an invitation, his eyes heavy with anticipation, and then he reaches and Laxus is moving, sliding his fingers free and leaning in to answer that silent plea as any half-formed hesitation melts under the light of temptation. Freed arches off the bed to meet him, pressing their skin together so Laxus can feel the way he’s trembling, can reach in under him to press his hand to the curve of Freed’s back, hold him up and steady while Laxus stabilizes his own balance. Freed’s knees fit over his legs, Freed’s ankles cross against his back, and when Laxus looks down Freed is staring at him, his mouth open on unconscious expectation and his eyes wide on Laxus’s face. He is thrumming anticipation, his lips trembling with the draw of tension under his skin; Laxus lets his gaze linger, watches the flutter of breath at the other’s mouth, and then he pushes forward, slides himself smooth into heat and friction, and he can feel Freed’s anticipation go languid in the first slow-long motion.

“Freed,” he says, feeling the shape of the name at his tongue, and Freed shivers, the vibration rolling straight down his spine and tingling in Laxus’s fingers. He drags Freed in a little closer, bridges the last gap between their bodies so he bumps against the other’s length as he moves, drags friction in the wake of the action. Freed groans, his body drawing tight around Laxus, and Laxus gives up on his support at Freed’s back. He lets the other fall back to the bed, fits a hand between them instead to tighten around Freed’s length and is instantly rewarded, Freed’s eyelashes trembling against his cheeks and his mouth coming open on his breathing like he can’t catch enough air. Laxus can feel the heat rising slow and inexorable in his blood, washing away the ache of healing injuries from his body, and he can feel Freed hot against his palm, flushing harder with every stroke of Laxus’s hand like Laxus is pulling his heartbeat faster just by his touch. When Laxus tilts his wrist to press extra friction in the wake of his fingers, Freed groans, his hand coming up to cling to the blond’s shoulder. It makes Laxus grin, draws him down closer, and this is better still, to have their skin catching together and his hand pinned between them and his mouth ghosting against Freed’s, more idle contact than a deliberate kiss but still close enough that he can feel the rush of Freed’s breathing. Freed shifts his hips, tips up to meet the downward stroke of Laxus’s hand, and Laxus growls appreciation, the sounds purring up his throat and out into his shoulders. Freed shudders at the sound, the reaction rippling out through his whole body, and Laxus strokes a little faster, draws out the shiver of that response long and taut until he can feel the edge of satisfaction tense under the other’s skin.

“Freed,” he says again, the syllables dragging over the other’s mouth, and Freed whimpers and manages “ _Laxus_ ” with the desperate adoration that always turns Laxus’s blood warm and rushing fast with adrenaline. Laxus tightens his hold, jerks fast in time with a sharp thrust of his hips, and Freed dissolves, goes breathless and gasping and comes hot over Laxus’s fingers. He feels electric, tingling heat out into Laxus everywhere they touch, and when his hold slides sideways to slip against the back of Laxus’s neck the blond pulls back to gasp a lungful of air just before everything sparks white and blinding for a moment. He can feel Freed trembling under him, the only point of reference in a world gone hazy with heat, and as the first burst of pleasure fades out into the heavy weight of satisfaction, he blinks and realizes Freed is smiling soft and pleased and unthinking.

Laxus lets his lingering hold against Freed go, reaches up instead to bump the clean skin of his knuckles against the corner of the other’s mouth. Freed startles at the contact, blinks himself into focus on Laxus’s face, but even under the pressure of surprise the expression stays, turning the cool beauty of his features warm and human.

“You look nice when you smile,” Laxus says, the words flat with truth. It lacks the tone he wants, the emotion he feels vaguely they ought to carry, but Freed’s eyes flutter wider, his smile going wider with shocked delight, and Laxus has to lean in to kiss the shy pleasure at his lips.

He’s better at acting than speaking. From the way Freed goes pliant to the press of his mouth, he understands this motion in particular without the translation of words.


End file.
